When life worth Living
by IloveTeenWolf
Summary: Haymitch past before the games and after them. The way he had changed from his old-self to his drunk-self. one-shot. I own nothing.


Haymitch laid his head on the table and thought of her. Latisha.

He remembered her beautiful, soft face. She was a member of one of the more wealthy families in the district, and he was just another guy who would go up to be a miner.

The soft blond hair that rested on her shoulders and her lively dresses that filled him with joy every time he stole a glance at her from across the school yard.

He was sixteen and she was one year younger than him, therefore they had no chance. Not to mention, her parents meant for her to marry one of the trader's son.

He was carving a piece of wood with his knife the first time she smiled at him. He remembered that because he needed some serious stitching work for the deep cut he created in his own hand.

"Thank you," He murmured as she gently bandaged his wound.

"No problem," she said and smiled again, stroking his injured hand.

She had a job and the pharmacists' shop – of course she knew how to bandage his hand.

"Why have you even got a job? It's not like you need the money of something." He asked, wiping his blood caked knife on his black trousers.

"There's nothing better to do after school, you know." She replied and smirked.

"You're probably with Maysilee all day." He said and smiled back at her. Maysilee was hers and the pharmacist's daughter's best friend.

"Yeah, well, it's not like there's anything better to do in District 12." She said and laughed.

"The Reaping is coming up." She commented while staring at the sunset that penetrated through the trees. The last sunbeams met them and created a beautiful sight, rare at District 12.

"Why are you worried? You don't need to apply for tesserae," He said and chuckled bitterly, throwing pebbles beyond the fence which encircled the district.

"Yeah… but the odds aren't exactly at my favor." She said and smiled sadly, stroking the rock on which they were both seated.

"Odds are at your favor, as long as I have something to say about it." He replies and gazes at her sculptured lips. She looked so pretty in the dusk light. She always looked pretty.

A tear streamed down her cheek and he reached his hand to wipe it away. He swore that evening he would kill anyone who'd make her cry.

She approached his lips and kissed him delicately, running her fingers through his wild brown hair.

He smiled and observed her. She could get anyone she wanted – why him?

"Haymitch."

A familiar voice emerged from behind him and made his separate his lips from hers. His younger brother, Ritchie, stood in front of him. His grey eyes looked at him scarily.

"Is something wrong?" Haymitch demanded and rose on his feet.

"Mom needs you. It's urgent."

"I…" A conflicted Haymitch murmured toward Latisha.

"It's alright, go. It's getting late anyway." She said and stood up from the rock they shared as well.

They both headed in different directions. She – on her way to her house in the more wealthy part of the district, and he – with his brother, to the more plain houses. The stepped inside to see their mother, mad anger clouding her face.

"Are you insane? Have you seen how much tesserae you applied for?" She lectured.

"How do you even know?" A surprised Haymitch asked. It's not like he published it for the whole district to know.

"Thank god somebody cares about you enough to tell me this, Haymitch! I don't need tesserae; I need my children home, safe and sound." She said.

"I prefer you'll have something to eat than having you or Ritchie walking around like living skeletons." He said and removed her hand that was cupping his cheek. Why can't she see he's doing it all for them?

"You're being a bad example for your brother; he'll be twelve years old next year. I don't want another child who will stick his name in there so many times for conserves! We'll work something out, Haymitch." She said and glanced at the little boy with the overgrown brown hair, who glared back with those grey eyes, so common in the district. "And what happened to your hand?" She finally asked once noticing the bandages that were wrapped around his palm.

"It's okay, nothing happened." He muttered and took the bandages off.

"Where did you get such bandage?"

"Just leave it, okay?" He said agitatedly and stormed outside when the rain started pouring.

He spends the rest of the days before the quarter quell with Latisha. They find a breach in the fence and head for the forest, where the spend most of their afternoons.

She lies down, resting her head on his lap and enjoyed that rare day of sunshine. They lose track of time – until they return to find a tumult in the city square.

They run together toward there and try to figure out what happened, in vain. The crowd pushes them away and isn't allowing them to approach. They can see peacekeepers trying to calm down the people in the streets. For the first time ever, they were helpless.

"What happened?" Latisha asks one of the old men in the street.

"They're sending four tributes. The president just announced – they're sending four tributes from each district." He mutters.

Haymitch and Latisha exchange quick looks and notice the sadness in the other's eyes. The chances one of them will get chosen only increased.

"Come, no reason for us to stay here any longer," he says and holds her hand, leading her to a quieter place. Further from the street and the train that can leading either her or him to their death.

Reaping Day arrives and Haymitch wakes up as every morning of The Reaping. Worried about his chances of getting elected. It isn't just him this time; there's Latisha, too. He has no clue what he'll do if he loses her.

A woman in horrible Capitol outfit starts making her fiery speech in heavy Capitol accent and Haymitch can't help but smile at Latisha at the girls' row.

President Snow's announced that already drove everyone out of their senses. In the 50th Hunger Games there will be a multiple number of tributes.

He smiles at her nervously. What are the odds she'll get reaped?

He'll be okay. There plenty of boys in District 12 that applied for tesserae. His odds are well comparing to hers – almost no girl applied, and everyone had the same chance.

The first tribute is called – Maysilee. Haymitch watches Latisha in distress at the pharmacist's daughter hugs her until the peacekeepers force her to go up to the stage.

The first male tribute is called. It's not him.

He exhales in relief and grins at her as the name of the second female tributes is called. She's saved. He won't have to watch her death on national television. At least, not that year. The gazes at her with a satisfied smile and his eyes meet her full of fear ones.

He only realizes something happened and two peacekeepers approach him and walk him to the stage.

He can see her collapsing, and the pharmacist's daughter holding her. Just barely.

He tries to smile at her, some gesture, but he can't. He stares at the crowd, frozen, looking for his family.

He glances and her lastly, to the girl who rocked his heart. The girl he'll never see again.

"I told you!" His mom's voice echoes through the hall of justice, "Who don't you ever listen to me?"

"What does it matter? The odds were never in my favor anyway." He mutters nervously.

"Haymitch, if you wouldn't have applied for those tesserae –"

"Then maybe I wouldn't have gotten chosen? I prefer things how they are now."

"You mean how you are going to die in front of my eyes?" She said, tearing up.

"Take care of Ritchie and dad, alright?" He says and strokes her trembling hand. She hugs him fiercely until a peacekeeper tells him they need to leave and she lets go.

He gets on the train solemnly, doesn't talk much with the other tributes. He needs to return, alive, and he hasn't got time to make friends.

To kill Maysilee is out of the question. He didn't know the other tributes and they didn't know him, so it was alright, but he'd prefer if somebody else killed them.

The problem was the careerists. District 1 and 2 train for years for this thing; it won't be easy to trick them. But they're impulsive; he can beat them with a good strategy.

He doesn't eat much in meals – changes of nutrition can lead to some serious problems in one's body. He can from a situation of malnutrition to a pile of rich foods on the table in front of him, and eating too much can be the mistake that'll cost him his life.

Their mentor walks into the dining room, wearing glasses that resemble goggles more than actual glasses.

"He's photosensitive," The woman from the Capitol explains.

They arrive at the Capitol where they put on their miners clothes and put on a show in the square.

Haymitch makes sure not to train. In the center he simply sits and whetted knives. No reason to show anyone what he's capable of. Instead he examines the other tributes, marking their weak and strong spots.

Then – the night. Interviews with Caesar Flickerman that doesn't look like he's aging. "Please welcome Haymitch Abernathy!" Caesar shouts and Haymitch goes on the stage, smiling. His hair is combed and he's wearing a suit not even the president has in his closet.

"Haymitch, what can you tell us about yourself?" Caesar asks and grins.

"What can I tell?" Haymitch replies. He has no sacrifice speech or some special statement.

Caesar didn't seem pleased with the answer. "You have some pretty beautiful girls in your district, haven't you? We already got to see two of them." Caesar says and sends a discomforting smile at Haymitch.

"I'm more into women with wigs from the Capitol," He says sarcastically and smirks at the cameras. Latisha doesn't even need to be mentioned in this interview.

"So, Haymitch, what do you say about the games? There are more tributes than ever before." Caeser declares.

"I don't think there's going to be much of a difference. They're still going to be 100% idiots, just like any other time so I guess my odds are about the same."

"Haymitch Abernathy, ladies and gentlemen!" He says and shakes Haymitch's hand warmly.

Haymitch can feel his stomach almost falling apart; he can swear that if he took off his hand from it at those crucial moments before the helicopter arrived – his guts would spill out. He's suffering. The pain is burning him but the only thing that's keeping him alive is the crazed adrenaline of victory.

He doesn't care about anything anymore. Neither about force fields nor axes. He only wants to go home.

The helicopter gets to him. He doesn't remember much from those moments. He's sedated and his injuries are treated by instruments of the Capitol.

When he wakes up he finds himself in his bed in the twelfth floor of the training center. He smiles to himself and allows his body to fall asleep again.

When he awakens he can see his mentor standing drunk and smiling next to the dining table, lifting the hand holding the bottle.

"To you, Haymitch, and to freedom!" he declares and takes another sip from the bottle.

The stylists around him burst out laughing. It definitely has been a while since District 12 had a winner.

"Grab a drink, lighten up a little!" His stylist shouts and shoves a bottle of alcohol into his hand. He drinks up and immediately spits out the liquid that's burning his throat. Oh god, how can his mentor even drink that thing?

He goes back home, happy. Not only he brought joy and wealth to his district, but he also improved the lives of his own family – and maybe Latisha's parents will finally take his wish to marry her earnestly.

He arrives at the station, where dozens of Capitol photographers are waiting for him, and his family. And Latisha.

He doesn't give a damn. He doesn't care about the photographers that encircle him with flashes and screams. He gets off the train and kisses Latisha. He embraces her. He missed her blond hair and liveliness so much.

"I missed you," she says and smoothes the hair out of his face.

He grins and kisses her again, lifting her up so she's wrapping her legs around his waists.

The next thing he does after walking to the Victors' Village with his family is to look for her. He first goes to the pharmacy shop where he finds their daughter, angry and upset.

Before he can understand what's going on he's pressed up against the wall and being shouted at.

"If you hadn't left her she would have still been alive! This is all your fault!"

He gets away quickly, off to search for her in the seam.

Usually he'd receive cries of joy among the families of the seam. Local pride was rare in District 12 and the citizens welcomed every shred of it.

On the first week he couldn't look the families of the dead tributes in their eyes. He avoided walking past them, talk to them or even buy in their shops. If he died – maybe they would have lived.

But the second week of his return. The worst week of his life.

A filming crew of the Capitol arrives to document his first weeks in the district, and Haymitch welcomes them kindly. He allows them to film him with his family and even kisses Latisha twice for the camera. "So all girls of the Capitol can calm down and forget about him wanting their wigs," She said.

Then, one day when he came back from filming, he heard silence. He will never forget that silence.

The silence of death.

He walks up to his room and finds Latisha, the light of his life, on the bed, body damaged and entirely naked, except for a single white rose that lays on her bare body.

He runs to the living room, where he finds his mother, father and Ritchie hanging from the chandelier, white petals scattered on the floor.

He goes on The Victory Tour forcibly. He has no choice. He has to face the families of the tributes he murdered. There, he drinks for the second time of his life, and realizes that alcohol dulls the pain.

He goes out every year with two new tributes and comes back with bodies. He can't look people in the eyes. There's no family bereavement hasn't touched or was somehow connected.

The odds were not at District 12's favor.

He was stuck there, alone, in the Victors' Village. Lonely and alone and soaked in loneliness. His only friend is the bottle of alcohol and the knife from the same games.

During the games he'd spend time with Chaff or Finnick or Effie. But neither one of them would come back to District 12 with him. He was alone again until the next Games. So alone.

"Haymitch!"

Haymitch is thrown out of his thoughts and stares at the peacekeepers at his doorstep.

"Go away. You've got nothing to look for here." He mutters.

"It's the 74th Reaping; you need to be at the center of the town. The event can't start without you." The head peacekeeper says.

"Let them enjoy while they can. Odds aren't in their favor anyway." Haymitch says and drinks for the bottle of alcohol that's standing next to him, and always will. Because he has nobody else in the world, nobody to pull him out of his suffering.

Certainly not the next tributes.


End file.
